


Even If You Cannot Hear My Voice

by Magnetism_bind



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1465621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which D'Artagnan is wounded and Athos feels guilty about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even If You Cannot Hear My Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Written to celebrate the anniversary of The Three Musketeers first being serialized/published. 
> 
> For the prompt: Athos/d'Artagnon - with d'Artagnan whump please =)

 “He should have been back over half an hour ago.” Athos paces. “It’s taking too long.”

“He’ll be alright.” Aramis reassures him, though it’s clear Athos is in no mood to listen to reason.

They had sent D’Artagnan into the tavern under the pretense of playing a disgruntled former soldier, recently discharged from the army. It had been Treville’s suggestion.

“You’re always saying he can prove himself.” Treville had said. “Here’s his chance.”

Now Athos regrets his pushing D’Artagnan forward. The Gascon is still only a boy after all. Better he should go home and tend his farm and live to a fine old age then get his head beaten in by some tavern thug in a brawl.

The door opens and two figures come rolling out. One is D’Artagnan. The other is a man three times his size. They roll into the mud and the man lands atop D’Artagnan, bringing his fist down upon the Gascon’s face.

Athos starts forward as D’Artagnan’s head falls back. He and Porthos pull the man off their young friend. Porthos sends him into oblivion with one well-aimed punch.

D’Artagnan spits a mouthful of blood into the mud. “It’s him. He’s the one we’re looking for,” he manages to say before he collapses.

“Take him.” Athos turns back to the man who’s injured D’Artagnan, examining him. After all their first duty is to apprehend the criminal. The man will be in chains by the end of today. It’s not enough for the harm he’s caused, but at least it’s a semblance of justice. He glances back at D’Artagnan, “Is he-”

Aramis has moved in, gathering D’Artagnan up. “I’ve got him.”

D’Artagnan is woefully limp in Aramis’s arms.

“It’s all right.” Aramis reassures him. “Don’t worry so, Athos. He’ll be fine.” He hoists D’Artagnan up. “Come on, we have to get them both back.”

“Take him to my quarters,” Athos directs over his shoulder, “and fetch a physician at once.”

Porthos raises his eyebrow, but Aramis nods. “I think he’s right.” He gestures towards the unconscious prisoner. “You and Athos take him to Treville.”

“You sure you can manage him on your own?” Porthos eyes D’Artagnan.

“One wounded Gascon? I think so.”

Still, Aramis’s amusement fades as he gets D’Artagnan up on his horse. His breath is shallow and the cut on his head doesn’t look at all good. There’s some slight swelling as well that's worrying. Aramis hurries the horse as quickly as he can through the streets.

He gets the Gascon to Athos’s quarters and into bed, laying him out gently. Next he sends a street urchin off to fetch a physician well known to the musketeers. After that Aramis removes D’Artagnan’s bloodied doublet. Aramis takes his handkerchief and wipes the blood from his head, trying to get a better look at the wound. D'Artagnan's breathing is still too low.

* * *

The physician is there and tending D’Artagnan by the time Athos and Porthos return having fulfilled their duty.

“How is he?” Athos can barely look at the still figure on the bed for fear that something’s worsened.

“He’s still tending the wound.” Aramis steadies him with a hand to the shoulder. “Athos. He’ll be all right.”

Athos nods, finally looking at D’Artagnan. D’Artagnan lies prone upon his bed. There’s pallor in his cheeks. Athos gazes at him until he can take it no longer. “Well?” He demands of the physician.

“It’s not good, I’m afraid.” The physician straightens up, wiping his hands on a cloth. “He’s got a concussion. The swelling hasn’t worsened, but it could. If he wakes and knows his name, everything will be well. If not…he could sink into a deeper coma and be lost.”

Athos stares at him. “Is there nothing you can do?”

The physician shakes his head. “I’ve done all I can for now.” He reaches for his pouch. “Still, if there’s change, you may send for me again.”

Aramis speaks up. “What can we do until then?”

“Watch over him, make sure he’s not alone. If he wakes…” The man shrugs his shoulders.

Porthos pays him and the physician takes his leave.

Aramis sighs. “Well then.” He glances at Athos, concern etched across his brow. “All we can do now is wait.” He knows how difficult that is for Athos, but he hopes this once…

His hopes come to no avail. Athos merely turns around and stalks out the door.

“Athos, Athos!” Porthos calls after him in dismay. “How can he just leave like that?”

“Let him go.” Aramis says. “Sometimes it’s easier than to watch.” He looks at D’Artagnan.

“But if something,” Porthos hesitates, unwilling to voice that possibility even just between the two of them.

Aramis clasps his shoulder. “I will take the first watch, if you will take the second.”

“Very well.”

* * *

There is nowhere he can go so Athos merely walks. If he prayed, he would pray now. It seems useless however, to reach out for a deity he doesn’t trust let alone believe in.

Eventually he makes his way to a low tavern, securing a seat at the back. If D’Artagnan dies because of his folly, and it will be his fault, not Treville’s, he’ll never forget himself.

“What can I do for you?” The tavern maid asks.

“Bring me a bottle of wine.” Athos pays her and sits back.

He drinks, but he cannot forget.

* * *

It’s long past dark when he returns at last to his quarters. Athos stands in the street below, gazing up at the window belonging to his room. He can see Aramis through the glass. His friends. He had been able to leave because he knew they would stay with D’Artagnan. It’s another debt he can’t repay, except he would do the same for any of them. At last Athos climbs the stairs and pushes the door open.

Porthos is seated at the table, playing a solitary game of cards. Aramis is by the window, mending a tear in his jacket. They both look up as Athos enters and goes over to the bed. D’Artagnan lies as still as ever. He looks younger just lying there in his shirt, the bandage half covering his head and Athos’s blankets wrapped around him.

Athos kneels beside the bed. “How is he?”

“No change.”

His head lowers and Aramis adds “Athos, he hasn’t worsened either.” His voice is gentle and Athos nods in response, acknowledging him without looking away from D’Artagnan.

“I’ll take the next watch.”

“Are you sober enough for that?” Porthos asks. Aramis could have punched him, but Athos doesn’t flinch at the inquiry. He deserves it.

“I am.” It’s half true. He’s drunk enough to dull the pain, but not enough to turn him insensible. Now he needs to be alone with D’Artagnan.

“If you’re sure.” Aramis grasps Porthos’s shoulder. “We’ll get a few hours’ sleep and check on you in the morning.”

Athos just nods again. They go out and he can hear Aramis chivying Porthos along the hallway, “Why did you ask that?” “Well, we couldn’t leave D’Artagnan with him if he were drunk.” “Still.”

Athos looks again at the bed. “I’m not drunk.” He addresses the unconscious D’Artagnan.

“Not nearly enough.” He takes a place at the table, then finally draws the chair over by the bed and sits there instead. But merely sitting there and watching D’Artagnan is unbearable. He stands and returns to the wall opposite, leaning against it. He looks out the window before finally speaking again.

“I shouldn’t have let you go in there.” It had been on Treville’s idea, but that had been based on his recommendation. “It’s not that I don’t think you’re ready. You are. Or that you’re not capable of looking after yourself. You can. I know that well enough by now.” Athos sighs here, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s simply that you’re so very young.”

When he had joined the musketeers, his former life had been destroyed. There’d been nothing else for him in the world. It’s not the same for D’Artagnan. “D’Artagnan, you could do anything, go anywhere.”

 _“All I want is to be a musketeer.”_ He hears D’Artagnan as surely as though he’d spoken from the bed.

Athos sighs. “I don’t know what I’ll do if…” He doesn’t let himself finish that sentence. All he can do is wait.

* * *

He’s still there against the wall when sunlight trails slowly across the floorboards. Only by now Athos has sunk down to sit with his back against the wall, his eyes resting on D’Artagnan. Aramis nudges the door open and looks at him for a long moment. He should have expected this.

“Go, get some sleep. I’ll watch him now.”

“I can’t.” Athos doesn’t move. His head is sluggish, limbs weighed down. He can’t move away from this spot.

“Athos.” Aramis begins, but stops immediately. “Did you see that?”

Athos watches as he goes over to the bed, touching D’Artagnan’s brow. D’Artagnan’s hand stirs again. Athos sees it too this time. A slight movement, nothing more.

Aramis checks his eyes, examines his head and glances at Athos. “I’ll fetch the physician again. Stay with him.” He leaves once more, leaving Athos alone with D’Artagnan.

Athos slowly pushes himself to his feet. His knees ache. He drags the chair over to the side of the bed, wincing as it grates across the floorboards.

There’s no denying that D’Artagnan looks better this morning. There’s more color in his face. Athos hesitates and then he reaches over to lay his palm against D’Artagnan’s cheek. There’s a faint exhale against his wrist. He can feel D’Artagnan’s breath and he’s about to draw his hand away when D’Artagnan opens his eyes.

For a moment he simply gazes up at Athos and then he smiles.

“You.” Athos breathes. He can scarcely believe it. It’s a dream. But D’Artagnan is awake, smiling at him. Athos can’t help the answering smile on his lips.

“That feels nice.” D’Artagnan murmurs sleepily. Athos’s hand is still on his cheek, caressing him. Athos strokes his face tentatively.

“Does it?”

He sees the answering ‘yes’ formed upon D’Artagnan’s lips.

The desire to kiss him, to feel D’Artagnan’s lips for his true answer - to know for certain, without question that he is truly alive- pulls Athos in. He leans down, his fingertips gentle on D’Artagnan’s skin.

D’Artagnan gazes up at him. “Athos.”

The moment is so close. Athos hesitates one second more and then, just as his lips are about to touch D’Artagnan’s, he hears footsteps on the stair. Athos draws back, dropping his hand. He sees the question in D’Artagnan’s eyes, but leaves it unanswered.

Aramis exclaims in delight at the sight of D’Artagnan awake. The physician checks the young patient over to make certain he’s recovering as he should. Athos is torn between hearing what the man has to say, and fleeing before D’Artagnan can ask him whatever it is he intends to ask.

At last, having pronounced D’Artagnan on the road to recovery, the physician departs. Athos edges towards the door as well.

“Athos, stay.” D’Artagnan murmurs.

He halts. “Porthos will want to know.” It’s a feeble excuse.

Aramis squeezes D’Artagnan shoulder. “I’ll tell Porthos the good news. Stay.” He smiles at D’Artagnan and goes, leaving Athos to face his fate.

D’Artagnan eyes him from the bed. “You were going to kiss me just then.”

Athos shakes his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never presume.”

“Oh?” D’Artagnan blinks. “It certainly looked as though you were about to.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

“Just so.” D’Artagnan says as though Athos has proved his point.

“I should.” He half turns towards the door again.

“Athos.” D’Artagnan pushes himself up.

“Stay, you shouldn’t move yet.”

“Then come closer to the bed.” D’Artagnan settles back against the pillow. He’s waiting.

“D’Artagnan, you’re injured. You’re…”

“If you say delirious, I will get out of bed right now.” D’Artagnan threatens. “I know what happened.”

Athos’s shoulders slump in defeat. “If I admit you were correct, will you let it go?”

“There.” D’Artagnan’s triumph is short lived. “What do you mean, let it go?”

“I have no intention of assuming you’ve been harboring the same…attachment.” Athos swallows. “It was a moment of folly. It will not happen again.”

“That’s a pity.” D’Artagnan whispers. “I rather wanted to see what you did next.”

Athos stares at him. “You can’t mean-.”

D’Artagnan’s chuckle is quiet, but it’s there all the same. “Please come closer to the bed.”

Athos moves closer at last and D’Artagnan raises his hand to slip into his. He barely tugs and Athos follows, sinking down into the chair once more.

He clasps D’Artagnan’s hand lightly in his, feeling the pulse of life against his palm. The callouses of swordplay upon D’Artagnan’s hands, reminders of their life together. Hesitant still, Athos raises D’Artagnan’s hand to brush his lips over his knuckles.

D’Artagnan sucks in a breath and smiles at him.

“There.” Athos murmurs, reaching over to touch his fingertips to the hair falling over D’Artagnan’s brow. “Will that satisfy you?”

“For now.” D’Artagnan says.

At that, Athos smiles.

He’s still sitting there, besides D’Artagnan’s bed, D’Artagnan’s hand in his when Aramis and Porthos return.


End file.
